House of Gold by Bud Macfarlane

Author:Bud Macfarlane
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Catholicism, Fiction, Christian Fiction, Religion & Spirituality, Fiction & Literature, Christian Books & Bibles, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Saint Jude Media
Published: 2011-02-14T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Blackstone

New York State.

Off the beaten path of interstate highways, the town of Blackstone nestled at the bottom of a hill. It had seen its best days in the mid-1800s, when its paraffin factory, closed in 1910, had employed three hundred and supplied a world that lusted more and more after electric bulbs.

A handful of mountain farms in the surrounding hillsides stood barren, waiting for a harvest of sweet potatoes and yams that would probably not come this year–the farmers had no diesel left for their rickety tractors.

Buzz Woodward stopped on his bicycle, and gazed down at the town from the road. He briefly considered moving along until he spotted white smoke puffing from the chimney of a white clapboard building that he deduced must be a church of some denomination or other. It was too far away and there were too many trees for him to see if there was a telltale statue on the grounds.

Maybe it's a Catholic church?

He needed a confession more than food. The bitterness in his heart about losing the Man was starving his spirit.

Mel, Markie, Packy...

An old Clash tune drifted into his head: Should I stay or should I go?

You need a confession, his angel whispered.

Maybe there was a priest down there.

Buzz decided to find out. The dull ache of hunger in his stomach, and the decline of the road into town, sealed his decision. He listened.

Yes! He heard the sound of a brook.

He jumped off his bike, walked into the woods, and found it running parallel to the road, a quarter mile in. He methodically went through his routine of cleaning himself, including, as best he could, blindly trimming his crewcut. The style was his link to the past–and without the luxury of bathing, his scalp remained less miserably itchy.

His back wheel clicked as he glided slowly up the main street. There was no roadblock or sentry here, just the usual empty storefronts–Unique Antiques! Mrs. Donut, Johnson's Shell and Service, Three Penny Diner. There was no traffic light, and only one paved road running perpendicular to the main street (this time, however, it was named Oak Avenue–he was no longer in Pennsylvania, after all). The other road was Church Street, and as he cycled through the ghost town, he noted that there were two other churches–a tiny Church of the Nazarene and a gray, stone First Presbyterian Church of Blackstone, the Reverend Nathan Hawthorne, Pastor (if the glass and steel sign was still accurate).

He pulled up to the front steps of the third church, the last one on the block, sandwiched between two residential homes with overgrown grass (a common site now that lawn mowers were museum pieces).

Our Lady of the Angels.

There were three bicycles parked here, and he arched his neck to look around to the back of the church. No cars. An abandoned U-Haul trailer stood alone, its doors swinging-open.

Buzz heard the sound of a man's voice coming from inside the church.

The priest.

He climbed the steps, opened the door, and saw a man at the lectern who was reading out loud.

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